"AND WHEN I TOLD HER..."

Disbelief.  How can you refuse me?  How can you just walk away?

There were such good old lyrics without being country story lyrics.  A country story lyric requires tears and beers.  "He's parking his car in her driveway where I used to park my truck."  As I've said before, I want to like country music because it seems more American to me.  Certainly more American that Cee Cee Something's "Forget You."  And that's the tamed down title.

But I just can't get past the heartache/heartbreak/break up/ up chuck that defines country for me.  Scotty Idol's take on "lock the door and turn the lights down low..." is a good song, and I'm glad there are exceptions, including another Idol, Carrie Underwood.  But stars like Buck Owens and the Buckaroos of days gone by did me in years ago.

That's not to say that there aren't sad, sad stories in some songs of the '60's.  "Teen Angel," "Patches," "The Poor Side of Town."  But they were fewer and farther between.  Even Pitney's "Town Without Pity" could fall into the sad story category, but it's such a great song that he can be forgiven.  In fact, Gene Pitney knew heartbreak like none other, but somehow his great, unique voice transcended it much like Roy Orbison. They could touch your heart like The Beatles' "Michelle" or "Yesterday" without making you want to bawl or get drunk.  Their heart tugs were almost a ritual that one had to go through to grow, to feel alive when things got better.  You just expected things not to improve in the twang songs of American country.

That guy's car in her driveway may not always be parked there.  But some other one will be.  And it ain't gonna be the one who was driving the truck.

GRADUATION DAY
It may be past that time these days, but 4 or 5 years ago today, I participated in my high school graduation on the campus, specifically in the gym, at MTV High.  June 3 was a hot, muggy day and the old gym held the heat quite well.

Our caps and gowns were heavy, hot, and gray.  By the end of the speeches and diplomas that went out to the school's largest class (395), most, make that all were ready for post-grad activities.  There were no parent parties, no Project Graduation activities, no non-alcohol activities, just a dance at a local club.   That lasted until midnight, then a swim party for the graduates at a rec club pool.

I think it lasted till 1:00 AM, but I may be off on some of the times.  As I said, it has been 4 or 5 years ago and memory wanes. I do remember leaving there with my date and going to her house.  Where she made me promise not to attend a camp out with the guys who had purchased lots of beer that afternoon.

She kept me there late until I was really getting sleepy.  Then I left.  A high school graduate.

I'd tell you whether or not I caught up with the guys, but you know, lots of things get lost in 4 or 5 years.  In fact I think I've forgotten how to spell forty-five, or at least how to number it.

I almost forgot (see?) to include the picture in my missive.  It was for the song of the year, Lou Christie's "Lightning Strikes".

FROM A JACK TO A KING

Was Kermit ever that happy? Is this frog also dreaming of Miss Piggy?  Has he had a fabulous meal of flies and crickets sauteed on a lily pad leaf?  Or maybe he's just enjoying the splendor of creation.

It's  really funny how mood swings affect us.  This morning I opened up a new pack of coffee.  Ever since Will Lee and I made coffee for the Teachers' Lounge crew (later Chuck Stallings and I carried on the traditional task) I've loved opening coffee.  In the old days it was in a can and as the can opener gave out its last chew before getting put to bed, the aroma of fresh coffee filled theair like a shot of perfume.  But times change and coffee comes in a package now.

This morning in my early time lumber from slumber I opened up the wrong end of the coffee package.  I wondered where the plastic tabs were, but not much stays the same (certainly not the plastic lids on bottled water anyhow) so I pulled and freed the glued paper to allow me to extract coffee.  Then as I was putting back into the refrigerator for fresh keeping, I noticed my faux pau.  The day continued along those lines with the one except ionthat I played the last 8 holes today near par.

Things were going well yesterday.  Until the bottom of the 7th inning when Cardinal Lance Berkman had one of the worst at bats of the season.  With a new relief pitcher into the game and his wildness showing, Number 15 swung at a 2-0 ball way out of the strike zone. With the bases loaded and one out. Fundamentals taught by coaches to baseball players from age 8 on, tell the hitter to make the pitcher throw a strike in the area where the hitter wants to smear the ball.  Don't go after a pitch that doesn't look good.  In his eagerness, he committed a cardinal sin.  The Cardinals go on to lose.  My mood does a 180 gravitation.  All because of one play in a baseball game.

The night before as the Cardinals rallied to win, I was as happy as the frog.  As I've said before, my eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Snodsmith told me it didn't take much for me to be entertained.  She was right then and now.

But she should have added or for me to have a sudden mood swing.

WHERE'S THE JUNE POLE

It's been a crazy day so far and it's not even noon yet.  I've searched high and low for the sales for Cinco de Juno and I haven't found anything in the papers, Internet, or tv.  I never can remember why we celebrate it anyway, but it was important to Hispanics and so I embrace a time of celebration.

Then this June bug or bumble bee goes into full attack on me buzzing me and threatening me with his territorial claim.  I finally slipped off one flip flop (Margaritaville?) and mano y mano slapped him, batted him hard.  I figured I killed the aggressor, but he flew away across the street and up over a neighbor's house.  It could be a pretty fun game if you were guaranteed only one creature would attack at a time.  I had given him a chance, too, trying to swat him away with my hand, but no, not until I went into attack mode would he leave me alone.  So don't think I'm Michael Vick or something, but a game of chance could bring about wagers.  How many times would it take me before I made solid contact?  It was only one in this encounter, but if he comes back this afternoon, I may be in for more of a challenge.

Finally, the morning paper tells me I can't talk on my cell phone, not really a big deal for me since I rarely do.  In addition, I can't take aspirin or ibuprofen, again not a big deal though I usually take a baby aspirin three times a week.  If I talk I'll get brain cancer; if I take aspirin I'll lose my hearing.  What's a guy to do?

And June's only getting started.  Wait till she starts busting out all over.

COLOR ME PO-ed

Ticked is not a strong enough word. Our son was famous for ticking off a pitch that he couldn't handle in Khoury League. Rather than take a full cut at it, he would tick it foul and await a pitch he wanted to drive. I know one assistant coach that it drove crazy.

Hacked off is not used much anymore, but it may be more accurate. Hacking conjures a violent action of some sort. And now we may be getting there.

But I'll settle for PO-ed, even though on mainstream tv these days they don't hesitate to say what P and O stand for. So who or what is my subject? Once again, I'm afraid it's our President.

He had angered me from ObamaCare to border control. His attempt at Reaganesque humor about creating a moat with alligators fell way short of any kind of humor that The Master Communicator used. Don't even try, Mr. Obama. I knew Mr. Reagan. I went to his first inauguration. Believe me, you're no Ronald Reagan. Unfortunately.

But his stance on Israel is the single most dangerous, most uninformed blatant single action he can do to harm our country. Return to the boundaries prior to the 1967 war? I'd like to think he can't be serious. I could go into great detail about how stupid his suggestion is. I could suggest that maybe our country should go back 10 more years to re-establish boundaries and give back Hawaii. Then there'd be no birther question. But instead, I'll simply offer this take. A scriptural, a Biblical take.

God will take care of Israel, Mr. Obama. With or without our help. But no place in scripture does He say He'll take care of the US. History and scripture dictate that God will bless those who support Israel. God will draw the boundaries, not you, Sir.

AS WE AGE

Do we all get a little more patriotic, a little more appreciative as we get older? Do we look back at what made our country great and see that it is individuals after all? Like someone once said, a snowflake is not much by itself, but when it has unity, when it connects with others it can stop traffic.

Soldiering was something we played a lot as kids in backyard games. Our only ammo was the dirt we stuck in the ends of our rifle barrels and shot at the others. The yard bullets didn't go very far but sometimes under the right circumstances a little poof of dirt would give the effect of a shot from the gun. This was long before paint ball or real bullets that some of us tried like heck to avoid having to use.

But soldiers are preservers. They're heroes. If you missed a 60 Minutes segment on a US soldier who fought in Afghanistan who was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, then you missed a great Memorial Day or any day story. Try to check it out on line. You may not be brought to tears, but I guarantee a gulp or two or a knot in your throat.

And that's today's entry from ON THE QT. Have a safe and respectful Memorial Day 2011.